


michelle - pickleface

by molcocktease



Category: Metalocalypse (Cartoon)
Genre: M/M, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:22:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28050864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/molcocktease/pseuds/molcocktease
Summary: one shot based on the songmichelle by sir chloe
Relationships: William Murderface/Pickles the Drummer
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	michelle - pickleface

**Author's Note:**

> hi hi this is my first fandom one shot so be kind  
> \- thank you @atmilliways for the help!

He’s so cruel—shaking his hips that way.

Walking in front of me just so I could ogle him up, look him up and down. My chapped bottom lip almost bursting from how hard I was biting down on it. I feel horrible, like a dirty fucking pervert. Looking at my bandmate like a slab of meat. The smallest one—the loudest one aside from me. The one who’d never even look at me twice. A small and slender man covered in little dots and soft body hair.

Pickles is a monster for making me feel this way.

Making me feel gay, like a fucking perv. Giving me dirty thoughts of him slamming me against the wall—pinning my hands above my head. I’d do anything for him to even acknowledge me like that. For him to lay a finger on me in a tender way—or even an aggressive way at this point.

The way he teases me by undressing in front of me for another night of drunk streaking, jumping into the hot tub butt naked. Showing off his slender frame. I’ve admired it so many times that by now—I’d be able to tell you how many freckles are spread over his back alone. Tracing over his scars once or twice, the ones right on his pecs. ‘Let me grab that’ he’d say, bending down right in front of me. Ass in the air, shaking it once or twice. Getting me all riled up, leading to me leaving the room to fucking beat off or cry.

It's so cruel.

He looks so nice, flexing his muscles while playing the drums. I almost stop in awe at every show. Beating it with such force— reminding me of the times i’d run into him during his own private sessions always including a bright drunken smile. He’s so beautiful, so handsome, so out of my reach. The closest I’ll ever get to getting love from him.

Once in a while he’d stroke my back, give me a light pat on the ass like guys often do to each other after a game. God how it made me blush, feeling all warm and slimy inside. It made me want to barf. Wishing it was just as easy as that. Barfing out my god damn gay feelings for my fucking bandmate. It’s suffocating, like I can’t breathe when he’s near. Sucking the life out of me, like a fucking succubus.

Pickles is a monster from hell.

The deepest depths—the part as red as his hair. It would only make sense, torturing me like all the other devils down there. Doing a sultry dance just to entice me—

Every time I’d walk in on him smoking on the balcony, he’d gesture me to come over. Wink at me with that gentle familiar smile—the one where one corner would be raised, sexy semi-closed eyes, and that killer sudden flare of his pearly whites. How his teeth have remained so perfect after years of neglect is a mystery. How this man stayed alive on only booze and drugs was even more of an enigma—even then he had me wrapped around his skinny little fingers. There were days where I wished I was the cigarette, in between his lips. Getting the cancer sucked out of—but honestly the only thing that made me different from the little stick was Pickles holding it.

He’d blow the smoke in my face, laughing at me and how I coughed. “Dood, aren’t you a smoker?” I had quit long ago—it was a fluke, something to make me seem cool. Something I just threw aside when I got bored of it—wish I could do that with Pickles.

But Pickles is not just an addiction—not a thing I’d easily get rid of.

“Hey— Will. Smile for me, will ya?” He’d always be hanging over the rail, looking over the castle that was Mordhaus. Giving him a smile would usually just result in him chuckling, smiling back with the slightest hint of red—and like always that led to me just pouting and rolling my eyes.

“That always does the trick, that little smile of yur’s.”

It’s so cruel—that he makes me feel good.

I don’t care what he says—if it was true or not. He was lying no matter what.

Even if he came closer sometimes, brushing his pinky over the hand laying next to his on the steel railing. Mumbling small things to himself like a hot mess when he looked into my sharp eyes—it’s not what I think it is. He’s tempting me.

He knows just how to be cruel when he looks at me like that.

Laughing behind my back about how gay I am—how pathetic I am to have fallen for his obvious prank. He doesn’t like me, I’m not worth it. All the little things he only did to get my attention. When I was near. When I was only around him. All just traps—to make me out to be the fool.

“Wish I could see yur smile more often—”

Fucking cracks me every time. Drives me up the walls, love struck. All I would respond was usually just a soft ‘yeah’ or an embarrassed ‘heh.’ Pickles would just continue to smile—looking directly at me. Once he came closer to me, not stopping until we were chest to chest. How I wanted him to lay his beat up hands on my cheeks. Make me look down at him and pull me into a kiss. Everything he does just drives me insane.

Of course he didn’t kiss me that time. Who would want to kiss my sandpaper lips, who would want to do anything like that with me? Definitely not Pickles. It’s just a prank. He’ll turn to me one day right on that balcony and go—

“Hah dood it was all just a prank, I tricked yu dood! Yur so gay, haha!”

Yeah, he’ll just turn to me and laugh.

Even after holding my hand, brushing my hair, looking at me with such a tender smile—one even my grandparents withheld from me growing up. Pickles isn’t a demon—no matter how much I’d like to think it. Blame him for making me feel like this, blame him for all the crying fits I’ve been having over my stupid little crush. It’s all on me, only I’m to blame, but fuck—he’s so special. With his shitty double-pierced brows, those god awful unkempt dreads and his constant need to get shitfaced. It doesn’t stop him from being so god damn special. I’m such an idiot.

I let out a loud sigh, alarming Pickles who’s sitting right next to me. He must have thrown himself into the couch when I was deep in thought. 

“Yu done? Got out of yur little mind palace?”

“Yesh.” Crossing my arms I just continue to look forward, avoiding eye contact with him. That’s the last thing I’d want right now. 

“Yu’ve got anything to do?” As I shake my head, he grew a little red. “Since yur not picking up my hints imma just come out and ask—wanne make out?”


End file.
